«Zoe, your grandkids have stripped every last one of my blueberry bushes!» The neighbour didnt even blink. «Oh, whats the fuss? Theyre just kids.» «What dyou mean, whats the fuss? Theyve wiped out my entire crop!» «Toni, love, no need to get so worked up over a few berries.»
Antonia Bennett used to start her mornings with a cuppa in hand, strolling round her cottage garden in Devon, checking the veg patch and admiring the fruit trees. She and her husband, Peter Bennett, had a decent-sized plothalf dedicated to spuds, carrots, and cabbages, the other half to an orchard of apple and pear trees, plus berry bushes.
But her pride and joy were those blueberry bushes. Shed planted the first cuttings five years back and this summer was finally meant to be her proper harvest. Nearby, blackberry brambles burst with fat, sweet fruit every year, and along the fence, grapevines hung heavy with clusters still ripening in the August sun.
«Peter, come lookthe blueberries are coming along lovely!» shed call.
«Proper beaut,» hed agree.
Come summer, their grandkidstwelve-year-old Alfie and ten-year-old Emilywould visit, lending a hand in the garden, picking fruit, or splashing in the nearby brook. Antonia adored them.
Next door lived Zoe Carter, with her tiny, flower-filled garden and a cottage just big enough for her and the chaos of her five grandkids, aged four to fourteen, who stayed all summer while their parents worked in London. The kids ran wild between both gardens, and Antonia never mindedshe loved the sound of their laughter.
«Auntie Toni, can we play in your garden?» theyd ask.
«Course, my loves. Just mind the veg patch, alright?»
One morning, Antonia stepped outside to a grim sight. Half her blueberry bushes stood bare. No plump berriesjust a few green, unripe ones clinging on.
«Peter, come here!» she shouted.
«Whats up?»
«Look at the blueberries. Whereve they gone?»
Peter frowned, inspecting the bushes. «Odd. They were full yesterday.»
«Birds?»
«Birds peck one or twonot strip the lot clean. Looks deliberate.»
Antonia checked the blackberries next. Same storyeven the hard, unripe ones were gone.
«Peter, the blackberries too!»
«Blimey.»
That evening, Antonia kept watch from the garden bench, pretending to read. An hour in, she spotted the neighbours grandkids squeezing through a gap in the fence. All five beelined for the blueberries.
«Look how blue these ones are!» squealed the youngest, Lily.
«Lets take the lot,» said the eldest, Jake.
And they didstuffing pockets, mouths, and a carrier bag theyd nabbed. Antonia marched over.
«What dyou think youre doing?»
The kids froze. Jake shoved the bag behind his back. «We were just taste-testing,» he mumbled.
«Taste-testing? Youve cleared the lot!»
«Auntie Toni, can we have some more?» asked four-year-old Lily. «Theyre so yummy!»
«No. These are ours. We grew them.»
The kids slunk off, and Antonia stormed next door. Zoe was sipping tea on her patio.
«Zoe, we need to talk.»
«Go on.»
«Your grandkids have stripped every blueberry bush Ive got!»
Zoe didnt flinch. «So? Kidsll be kids.»
«So? Theyve ruined my entire crop!»
«Toni, love, dont get your knickers in a twist. Theyre just berries.»
Antonia gaped. «Just berries? Ive spent five years tending those bushes!»
«Plant more, then. No big deal.»
«An apology wouldnt go amiss!»
«Apologise for what? Kids dont know any better.»
The next day, the grapevines were raided tooclusters torn off weeks before theyd ripen.
«Zoe!» Antonia yelled over the fence.
«What now?»
«Your lots nicked my grapes!»
«So? Bet they were sour anyway.»
«Of course theyre sourtheyre not ripe!»
Antonias blood boiled. «Zoe, your grandkids are wrecking my garden!»
«Dont be dramatic. Youve got loads to spare.»
«Spares got nowt to do with it! Ive put years into this!»
Zoe just huffed and slammed her door.
That night, Antonia told Peter, «She didnt even apologise! Just kids will be kids!»
Peter shrugged. «What dyou expect? Easier for her to brush it off than parent em.»
«Its theft, Peter!»
«Theyre just littleuns, Tone. They dont get it.»
«The eldest is thirteen! He knows right from wrong!»
By weeks end, even the gooseberries were gone.
«Right, Ive had enough,» Antonia snapped. She marched next door, where Zoe was watering petunias.
«Now theyve taken the gooseberries!»
«What gooseberries?»
«Mine! Your lots been through the fence again!»
«Toni, youre proper losing it. Kids nibbled a few berriesbig deal.»
«Nibbled? Theyve cleaned me out!»
Zoe smirked. «Maybe stop inviting em over, then.»
Antonias jaw dropped. «I was being kind!»
«Kindness has consequences, love.»
Zoe flounced inside, leaving Antonia fuming. She sat on the bench and criedall that work, all that waiting, gone in days.
«Toni, dont take on so,» Peter said gently. «Theres always next year.»
«Its not about the berries! Its that Zoe wont even admit theyve done wrong!»
They built a taller fence. Zoe watched, sneering, «Stingy, much? Fencing off kids?»
The grandkids lurked, hunting for new gaps, but Peter sealed every one.
«Auntie Toni, whyd you build the fence?» little Lily asked.
«To keep my fruit safe.»
«Can we still come play?»
«No, love. Not anymore.»
The fence worked, but the neighbourly bond was wrecked. Zoe ignored her, the kids called her «Greedy Gran» through the slats, and soon, the whole village believed Zoes tale: «Shes hoarding berries like gold! Wouldnt even let the kiddies have a handful!»
By Augusts end, the kids escalatedtossing rubbish, kicking balls into the veg patch.
«Zoe, rein them in!» Antonia demanded.
«Prove its mine,» Zoe shot back.
Antiona considered the police, but Peter said, «Dont be daft. Theyll be gone soon.»
And they were. But as Antonia sat in the quiet garden that evening, she dreaded next summer. Zoe would be back with her five terrors, the name-calling, the sly vandalism. The garden didnt feel like a haven anymoreit was a battleground.
So, what would you do? Advise Antonia belowand mind the berries.
